


His Eurydice

by Evandar



Category: Thor (2011)
Genre: AU, Angst, M/M, Romance, soulbonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-05
Updated: 2012-09-19
Packaged: 2017-11-11 11:29:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/478056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evandar/pseuds/Evandar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thor died when he fell from the Bifrost. A guilt-stricken, Loki seeks a way to bring him back. There is nothing he would not do for his brother, even risk his soul.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

He had left Asgard to convince Thor not to return. He knew well that the Warriors Three and the Lady Sif were thinking of coming here themselves, but their goal was to return Thor and place him as rightful King of Asgard.

Loki could see their point. Thor was the rightful king, and it was not as though Loki held any personal ambition towards the throne. No, he was content with his place at Thor's side. He would be his advisor; his brother; his _friend_ above all others. He already was. And it was _because_ he already was those things that he could see that Thor was not ready to be king. So he'd stopped the coronation, using a group of Jotun he'd met in a marketplace in Vanaheim to do the deed.

He hadn't expected Thor to drag them into a war. He hadn't expected him to be banished from Asgard, either.

He hadn't expected to discover that Thor was not his brother at all.

Loki needed time. He needed time to think and to adjust and to deal with the problem that was Jotunheim. _Then_ Thor could return and he could abdicate quite happily if he saw that his brother had learned the lesson that their father had intended for him.

He hadn't expected his magic to guide him here. To a cold, metal-lined room with a row of odd looking tables in it, each of them metal; each with their own drain. One of them had a sheet draped over it, covering whatever lay on its surface. He approached it, curious. His brother was not here, clearly, as the room was empty. But it had been a long time since Loki had last set foot on Midgard, and the world had changed a great deal.

As he approached the table, he could smell something strong and unnatural. It appeared to be trying to wipe out all other odours, but it was failing. Loki could smell the underlying tang of blood quite clearly.

He reached for the sheet, but hesitated. He had never been one for gruesome sights. That had been Thor, who had a warrior's fascination for blood and battle, and who would never shy away from any horror. While Loki too was a proven fighter – though not, apparently, one up to the great standards of the Lady Sif – he did not seek out such things and preferred not to look upon them if he could help it.

Nonetheless, he drew back the sheet, his eyes registering red in various sickening shades, mixed with gleaming white and gold. Then his brain kicked in and translated the gruesome palette into something altogether more horrifying.

He knew now, why his magic had brought him here.

What had once been his brother was now a mess of flesh and bone and congealed blood, but still there were features he found familiar. There, the fall of his golden hair; there, his strong jaw. But he was too still, and what little of his skin could be seen through the blood was unnaturally pale. He raised a hand to touch Thor's cheek. His brother was cold to the touch and oddly stiff. Loki jerked away trembling. There was red staining his fingers.

There was a hard lump stuck in his throat. He tried to swallow around it, but couldn't. His eyes burned. He was not crying, he wasn't, and he clapped his hands to his mouth to hold in the sob that threatened to break free.

Oh Thor.

He hadn't meant for this. He hadn't meant for his schemes to lead to this. To Thor, cold and dead, laying on a table in Midgard without any of the honours a warrior deserved.

He had to fix this. Somehow, he would find a way to bring Thor back.

He reached down and smoothed Thor's hair back in a gesture their mother had performed often, careful to avoid the caved-in side of his skull. He forced a tremulous smile to his lips as if Thor were there to see it. His brother needed him, now more than he ever had.

"I swear to you, my brother" he whispered. "I will fix this."

He leaned down and pressed his lips to Thor's waxy brow. He could not hold back a shudder at how wrong it felt, nor could he hold back the tears that finally slipped free and dripped down his cheeks to splatter on what remained of his brother's face. He drew away, just slightly, and breathed his apology once more before he straightened.

There was no more he could do on Midgard for now. He replaced the sheet that covered Thor's body and summoned his magic to him, let it rise about him, and transported himself away – through the branches of Yggdrasil – to Asgard.

He had work to do.

…

He was halfway from his chambers to the library when he caught sight of his reflection. There was blood painting his mouth and smeared over his cheek. He'd removed the stain that had lingered on his fingers with magic when he had returned, at the same time as he had changed his clothes back from their temporary Midgardian appearance.

He hadn't realised he'd got it on his face as well.

Nausea rose within him. He was going to be sick. There was no bathroom in sight, so he steadied himself against the wall as his stomach rebelled. He coughed and spluttered as wave upon wave of sickness burned his throat and stole his breath. He closed his eyes, trying to hold back his tears as his splutters turned to sobs.

His knees gave out and he collapsed to the floor, not caring about the mess he was making of himself. He wrapped his arms around himself, hugging himself tightly, as he fought to keep himself together. He was crying so hard he thought he would fly apart from the force of it. Thor, from as early as he could remember, Thor had been the centre of his universe. He was the person Loki would do anything for – even if he didn't realise or recognise it – and now he was _gone_.

And it was all Loki's fault.

When he had been younger, he had attended the funeral of one of Odin's oldest friends. He'd barely known the man, though what he had known had shown him he was a good one, and he hadn't been able to understand why the man's family had been crying so. He'd known, intellectually, that they were sad and that they missed him, but he hadn't quite got it. Now, though, as he knelt, crumpled and weeping in an abandoned corridor, he understood perfectly the crippling power of raw grief.

Eventually, his tears subsided. He called upon his magic and whispered the seidr that would cleanse him. His voice was hoarse and cracked and unnaturally loud in the sudden quiet. He pushed himself to his feet and leaned heavily on the wall once more, catching his breath. He felt weak and shaky, but his earlier determination was taking control once more. If he let himself break like this then Thor would _never_ come back to him, and Loki…

Loki wouldn't be able to live with himself.

He studied his reflection in the glass that had so shocked him earlier. The blood was gone, along with whatever traces of vomit there had been as well, but that didn't mean he looked well. To the contrary, he looked terrible: waxy and pale with fine beads of sweat dotting his brow and upper lip. He looked not at all like a king in control of his kingdom.

He had to hide it. He had to keep Thor's death to himself. The news would destroy his mother, miserable as she already was over his banishment and his father's fall into the Odinsleep. He couldn't do that to her.

His earlier anger over his hidden heritage seemed petty in comparison to the turmoil he felt now.

He ran a hand over his face, trailing green sparks of magic in its wake. The spell perfected his imperfections; made him look well instead of sickly and in despair. He would be able to hold it as long as he needed to. Hopefully, it wouldn't be that long: Heimdall wouldn't be able to keep his gaze on the growing troubles in Jotunheim forever.

He pushed away from the wall, straightened his back and shoulders, and held his head high as he began walking again, following the long-memorised path from his chambers to the library once more.

…

Lady Sigyn, the book-keeper, smiled at him as he entered. She was a pleasant, pretty girl – one his mother incessantly seemed to be nudging him towards – and he managed to force a smile for her sake, though he swiftly bowed his head to hide how quickly it faded.

He made his way to a table at the back of the room, well hidden amongst the stacks. Even if he hadn't wanted to keep Thor's death a secret, he still would not want anyone to discover him studying such magic. Such things were reviled in Asgard. Truly reviled: even more so even than the argr second prince. He doubted even Thor would care for him after he had done it, but that didn't matter as long as Thor came back.

He would do _anything_ for his brother.

The words he had spoken to the Warriors Three and Lady Sif not two days before rang in his mind. _"I love Thor more than any of you."_ For all that he was renowned for being a liar; he had spoken nothing but the truth in that moment.

He loved Thor enough to risk his soul for him.

…

The first wave of his grief faded, leaving a frigid numbness at the core of his being and a ruthless dedication to his cause. His heart – bruised and broken by the discovery of his true heritage – seemed to have been ripped out of him entirely. He felt nothing as he poured over ancient texts, deciphering their cramped writing, save frustration that he was not working fast enough.

He felt nothing, that is, until something jarred his memory. Every so often a stray thought would surface in his mind and the numbness would be replaced with agony. Every time it happened, he would bite down on his knuckles to stop himself from screaming in anguish. He had run out of tears, it seemed, as no more fell. There was only pain and then more nothingness.

He might have had his heart ripped out, but the wound it had left behind had raw, jagged edges as sharp as broken glass.

For days he did not sleep. Nor did he eat. He read and read and memorised runes and seidr and forced himself to keep going for Thor and Thor alone. For Thor was all that mattered now. He was all that had ever mattered.

Eventually, he dragged himself out the library, a careful illusion in place over his haggard features. He crept down to the kitchens, avoiding as many people as he could, and stole two apples while the cooks weren't looking. He wasn't truly hungry, and the crisp flesh of the fruit tasted like ash in his mouth, but he forced himself to eat both of them. He would need energy for what he was about to do.

He was going back to Midgard.

…

He prepared himself in his chambers. His green tunic and leather trousers transformed into Midgardian clothing once more. It fit oddly – looser than what he was used to – but it was necessary. Even though his magic would discourage people from looking at him, there were some who would be able to ignore the spell and he wouldn't have enough power to make himself invisible while he –

While he _fixed_ his brother.

It had become rapidly apparent that the one thing he needed more than anything to work the spell – aside from a complete disregard for his own wellbeing and reputation – was Thor's body. More than that he needed Thor's body to be in perfect condition so that his soul might inhabit it; any lingering injuries would cause his brother's soul to flee once more and that was the _last_ thing Loki wanted.

With his disguise in place, he summoned his magic and stepped out onto the branches of Yggdrasil.

He had been travelling this way for centuries. He had discovered the trick quite by accident, but had long since perfected it. He could navigate the World Tree with ease, now, which was certainly a boon – Loki was in no state to concentrate on anything other than what awaited him at the end of his journey.

He was no healer. Oh certainly, he had patched Thor and his little friends back together several times over the years. Their noble warrior spirits meant that they also had no sense of self-preservation and Loki had been forced to learn healing seidr over the years for sheer practicality's sake. But those were meant for wounds of battle and mild ones at that; the injuries that had ended Thor's life were of a far greater extent and had come from a vastly different source.

He focussed his magic on his brother and followed its path through the branches to Midgard.

…

The room was the same as it had been when he'd left. This time, Loki crossed straight to the table and drew back the sheet without hesitation. The sight that greeted him was as awful as it had been the first time, but it was a sight that had haunted him every time he closed his eyes, so this time he did not flinch.

He rested his hand gently against Thor's cheek for a single moment. There was less blood, this time. A mortal must have taken the time to clean Thor's body, and for that Loki could not help but be grateful. Even though it had transformed Thor's skin to an unnerving shade of grey, it would make his task a lot less messy.

He leaned over his brother's body and pressed their foreheads together. He spoke the seidr softly as he began to run his hands over Thor's face and head. Magic twisted from his fingers and sank into his brother, pulling bone from brain matter, repairing nerves, and repairing tissue. He worked as quickly as he could, moving downwards, realigning bones as he went. There was far more trauma than he had anticipated, not to mention decomposition, and soon he was sweating in his ugly Midgardian clothes. He took a break to slip out of the fitted jacket his jerkin had become, and that was when he noticed his audience.

There was a young woman in the doorway. She was short, with long brown hair and a horrified expression. She was staring right at him. The magic that should have kept him unnoticed had failed.

He sneered and flicked a hand in her direction, his spell causing her to slump instantly to the floor. He left her where she lay, not caring for her comfort as he returned to Thor's side. He didn't care if she awoke sore and stiff – he had more important things to worry about, and did not care to be studied while doing them. He pulled the sheet further down, uncovering Thor's torso and upper thighs, and hopped up onto the table to balance himself over his brother once more. With his skull reformed and the damage to his face reversed, Thor almost looked as though he was sleeping. He looked peaceful, gentle, like this – if Loki ignored the greying of his face and lips – and it made Loki feel uncomfortable as he leaned back down to press his brow to Thor's once more.

It was an intimate position to be in, and if Thor was alive and awake for it, then no doubt Loki's actions would be misinterpreted. But, Loki knew, this was just the beginning.

He didn't know if Thor would ever be able to forgive him for this, the foul magic he planned to use to bring him back. When he was alive again, things between them would have changed, and Thor would be well within his rights to cast Loki forever from his side. He didn't care. He didn't care what Thor did as long as he was awake to do it.

His magic gathered once more in his fingertips. He closed his eyes and allowed his other senses to take over as the words of the healing seidr took form on his lips and tongue. He felt his magic spread out, seeking damage to reverse. He felt every inch of Thor's body, inside and out, mapped out and explored. There was no mystery in it anymore; he knew it better than he did his own.

Once the healing was complete, he pushed himself up on shaking arms before casting one final spell to preserve Thor's body indefinitely. The first stage was complete. Thor's body was ready for his soul to inhabit it once more. All that was left was for Loki to track that soul down and return it to its vessel and then he would have his brother back, for good or ill.

But where to do it? Loki knew that it would take time to perform that ritual, and that he would be vulnerable for the duration of it. He didn't feel safe enough on Midgard to perform it there, but Asgard had its own problems. Lady Sif and the Warriors Three, his mother, Heimdall – they were all present there, and if one of them began to suspect his absence too much then they could easily discover what he was doing. And if they did that…

The ritual was not without its risks. Loki knew that if it was disrupted in any way then he too would die, would join Thor in the wastes of Niflheim, and that both of them would be lost. But it was a risk that he was willing to take. Thor alone could inspire such recklessness in him.

He brushed his fingers over his brother's cheek. He loved Thor more than _anyone_ – a life without him was not a life at all. His foolish, headstrong, beautiful brother.

He stood and stretched, and collecting his jacket from the table he had placed it on. He slipped it on over his shoulders and returned to Thor once more. Awkwardly, for his brother was not only bigger than him, but heavy and stiff with death, he gathered Thor up into his arms and allowed his magic to carry them both through the branches of Yggdrasil to Asgard.

At least this way, if something did go wrong, he would be able to die at home.

…

He placed Thor's body on his bed and arranged him so that – were he to awake – he would be comfortable. He released the enchantment on his clothing as he sat next to him, stroking his hair with a tenderness that surprised even himself. Loki was not given to displays of affection; Thor had been, and Loki had always tried to push him away, fearing the intensity of those gestures. Now, though, he could not resist.

How was it that losing Thor had driven home everything that his brother meant to him?

The sight of Thor in his bed was a strange one. They had shared a chamber when they were children, but had been separated as soon as they had started to show signs of reaching manhood. When he had been little, the warmth of Thor slumbering by his side had been a source of comfort; now the mere sight of golden hair spread over his pillow made his stomach contract.

"I shall return," he whispered, stroking Thor's hair once more. "Soon, brother."

He dragged himself away, breathed deeply to regain his composure, and swept from his chambers without looking back – careful to enchant the door so that it would open only to him.

If he wished to enforce the illusion of all being well, then he would have to put in an appearance as king at some point. He headed towards the throne room. Hugin and Munin, his father's ravens, were absent, but the great spear Gungnir leaned against the great arm of Hlidskjalf waiting for him to take it up. He reached for it, and when his fingers wrapped around its shaft, he could feel the power that thrummed within it.

Tentatively, he lowered himself onto the throne and sat back. It felt awkward to sit there, high above the golden hall, in a throne that he had no real right to, let alone a desire for. He tried to appear calm and controlled, but his heart was fluttering wildly in his chest. He rested Gungnir across his lap and shifted into a more comfortable position.

This wasn't right. He wasn't meant to be a king.

He wasn't Thor.

He had teased Thor before the interrupted coronation. _"Nervous, brother?"_ he had asked, and he had smiled when he'd said it, knowing that Thor would reject it and sure enough he had. But he knew now that Thor should have been. The very seat itself was intimidating.

His fingers clenched involuntarily to remember what else he had teased his brother over that day. _"Now give us a kiss."_ What would he have done, he wondered, if Thor had done so?

The doors to the throne room slammed open, then, and the voice of Lady Sif rang out to him. "My King, we must speak with you," she said as she rushed across the room, flanked by the Warriors Three.

Then she looked up at him, and Loki saw her eyes widen in fear and shock before she narrowed them once more in suspicion. She had never liked him. For what reason, he did not know, as they were in similar positions: she had abandoned her woman's duties for battle and glory and war; he had chosen the study of magic, considered amongst the Aesir to be a feminine calling. Both of them had excelled despite the difficulties they had faced. But instead of inspiring friendship between them, those similarities had caused a one-sided rivalry on her part. She detested him, more so than any of Thor's other friends.

"The King has fallen into Odinsleep," he told her. "You may bring your problems to me."

She looked, briefly, horrified. None of Thor's friends were particularly good at hiding their thoughts and feelings, and for one such as him, it meant that he could read their thoughts without the use of magic.

It seemed that _he_ was Sif's problem.

For one awful moment he wondered if she knew what he had been up to – if his actions on earth and his plans to resurrect Thor had been discovered. But then Fandral took over the talking and Loki felt himself calm.

They believed Thor alive. They wanted him to return to Asgard.

Loki released a shaky breath and stood. A gentle tap of Gungnir's shaft on the floor rang out loudly, silencing Fandral instantly. He hadn't realised it took so little effort to make that sound.

"My friends," he started. He wondered, briefly, at the best way to approach this. It would benefit him – benefit _Thor_ – if they were absent from Asgard for the time being. He knew that Sif would defy him, no matter how logical he was. She always did. If he refused the request, then she would talk the others into going with her to Midgard. "Asgard needs stability," he said. "My first act as king cannot be to undo the last of my father."

"But –" Fandral began to protest. Sif lunged forward, only to have her arm caught by Hogun. She would do exactly as Loki wished her to do.

"I miss Thor as well," he said. More than they, or anyone, would ever know. "But my word on this matter is final. Thor cannot return."

He watched as they gathered themselves and backed away, removing themselves from his presence. He sighed in relief. It wouldn't be long before they defied him.

…

He watched the Bifrost activate with no small amount of relief. It had transported Thor's friends away from Asgard, and that gave him the freedom to move as he liked without their (Sif's) suspicious stares following him. As the glittering beam faded back, he turned away, and with quick strides returned to his chambers.

He had spent the afternoon with his mother, sitting by his father's bedside and silently bidding them both farewell in case anything should go wrong. The thought that it might – that he would be trapped in Niflheim forever and never see them again – had made his eyes sting and a lump rise in his throat. He loved his mother, his father too despite the lies, but he didn't love them more than Thor.

Thor was everything.

He locked and barred his chamber door behind him. He could not use magic to lock it for the ritual would take all that he had, so he pushed his desk in front of it instead. By the time he was done, his breath was coming in harsh pants – not from exertion, but from nerves. His hands wouldn't stop shaking as he gathered the tools he would need.

They were things he had already possessed. For something so forbidden, the art of necromancy was remarkably simple. A silver basin filled with clear water and infused with herbs – yarrow, mugwort, belladonna, rue – and a silver knife were all that he required.

He stripped slowly, his fingers slipping over the ties and fastenings of his clothes. Once removed, he folded them carefully and placed them on a chair. It was more care than he usually showed - the sentiment alien and unnatural to him – but he moved automatically to do it, as though the sudden neatness would make his mother's loss easier to bear if things went wrong.

He uncovered Thor's body with reverence. With gentle hands he used the water to cleanse them both, starting with himself before moving on to his brother. He felt heat rise in his cheeks at the intimacy of it. For some reason, this brought them closer together in his mind than his earlier healing magic.

He was really doing this. He fought down the urge to giggle.

When done, he picked up the knife. It was razor sharp and a prized possession: a blade he used only for blood magic on the few occasions he'd had need to perform it. His hands had stopped trembling as soon as his fingers had closed around the hilt, and for that he was glad as he pressed the blade to his chest and began to carve.

Eihwaz for death and a bridge into other worlds.

Nauthiz for need and love.

Sowilo for guidance and victory.

Blood ran over his pale skin, first over his sternum, then over each of his wrists. He carved deeply and steadily and with straight lines. Though it hurt, he did not flinch from the pain. Instead, his mind became focussed and clear as it needed to be. These runes he carved would be permanent. For good or ill, they would be a lasting testament to the love he had for his brother, borne by their flesh until the fires of Ragnarok enveloped them.

_"Sometimes, I am envious. But never doubt that I love you."_

The last rune carved into his abdomen, he turned the blade on his brother. Thor's wounds did not bleed on their own, but the blood that dripped down Loki's hand gave the illusion that they did.

His preparations complete, Loki lay down by his brother's side. He pillowed his head upon Thor's still chest and placed his hand over his brother's heart as though they were lovers.

_"Now give us a kiss."_

Words spoken in jest had held more truth than any could know. Loki's lips turned up in a faint smile. Thor would know, if he woke, that Loki was indeed capable of sincerity.

He closed his eyes and whispered the words of the seidr.

His heart slowed. Stopped. His lungs seized and his last breath rattled from his still smiling mouth.

Loki died.


	2. Part 2

Loki came back to himself in a world of red and grey. Mist swirled about him, obscuring his vision and wrapping around his limbs in cold tendrils. Niflheim was a realm of shadows and ruin; a fitting place for the spirits of the inglorious dead that it drew to itself. From all over the Nine Realms, the souls of those who died without honour travelled through the winding branches of Yggdrasil to this place, where they wept and moaned in under the not-light of a dying sun.

This was a place unworthy of his brother. Thor was golden, shining, and valiant; he was meant for a warrior's death and the halls of Valhalla rather than the accident that had befallen him.

He walked slowly through the twilight. The sun had expanded to fill the horizon with its burning red glow, but there was very little light or heat that came from it. At least, there was little that Loki could notice in his current state. His feet made no noise as he passed; he was nothing more than a spirit, for now. The living could not come here. He had had to allow himself to die so that he could bring his brother back to life. Around him, the dark, fractured forms of buildings loomed. Who had built them, Loki didn't know – a civilisation that had died out before time began, if one that had existed at all – but they reminded him faintly of the crumbling buildings of Jotunheim, all fading glory and broken power.

He shuddered at the reminder of Jotunheim. Everything had gone wrong there. Yes, he'd encouraged Thor to go – to prove to their father that he wasn't ready for kingship – but what had happened there had been beyond even the worst of his expectations.

And what had happened after…

He kept moving, spreading out his senses for any sign of his brother. The sooner he found Thor, the better. The longer he remained out of his body the harder it would be to find his way back to it. He knew from his research that many who had attempted this rite had succumbed to the pull Niflheim had on their souls and had not succeeded in their goals. Loki was determined not to be one of them.

As he went on, he adjusted to what he was seeing. Mist transformed from a single entity to the souls of many – Mortals, Jotun, Elves, and Vanir – all of them weeping for their lost lives. They were trapped in misery here. For them there were no feasts, nor fair valkyries to sing of their victories for they _had_ no victories.

This was a wasteland world, where wasted souls resided. A realm of nothing.

…

He heard her first. Her footsteps pattered across the broken stones that paved her ruined city. Niflheim was not entirely uninhabited; there was one who could live here, amongst the shadows and shades.

He had met Hela twice before. The first time, when he had been a child, he had spent staring at her in fascination for she had been different from any he had seen before. The second time, he had been a youth, and she had followed him – skipped in his shadow as he went about his business, laughing girlishly. Thor had teased him after that, claiming him the future King of Niflheim.

He slowed his pace. He should have known that Hela would find him.

He did not have to wait long before she emerged. She was small and dainty, an eternal child, and the fleshly half of her body was lovely as a doll. He knelt before her, bowing his head in greeting, but saw as he did so that she was frowning at him.

"Loki," she greeted. Her voice rasped from her half-ruined throat. "You should not be here, Prince of Asgard."

Her words were rejection, but her hands reached for him regardless. She was lonely, he knew. He took them without flinching and pressed gentle kisses – insubstantial as smoke – to her knuckles, heedless of the exposed bones and tendons. He liked her well enough, and he knew that to proceed with his plan, he would have to gain her permission.

"You have come for him," she said.

Even if he had wished to lie, he would have been unable to. Her eyes, like Heimdall's, saw all.

"Are you going to stop me, my Lady?" he asked instead.

She shook her head slowly and freed her hands from his grasp only to cup his face gently. It was a gesture he had only ever received from his mother before, and it startled him with its gentleness.

"Who am I," she asked him, "to tell you what price you can or cannot pay for your love? There are enough who will do that for me. If you can find him, you may take him. I will not stop you." She released him, then, stepping back and allowing him to rise once more.

He opened his mouth to thank her, but she held up a hand to stop him.

"You understand, Loki of Asgard, that there is no returning from this. That should you succeed, your life and your soul shall no longer entirely be your own; that you will be bound to Thor until Ragnarok come and beyond even then."

He had known. He nodded, closing his eyes as he did so. Thor could banish him for this – he would be within his rights to do so – and they could live separate lives in different realms if they had to. But Thor's death would end Loki's life as well. Thor's injuries would draw his own blood. Thor's loves and passions would make his own blood heat with emotion. Thor's soul would be forever tangled and twisted about his own and never, ever, would they be truly separated again.

Thor's life was his life. That was the price of necromancy.

"Let us hope he is worthy of this," Hela murmured.

"He is," Loki replied. There was no doubt in his mind of that. If anything, it was Loki – Jotun runt that he was – who was unworthy.

For the first time, she smiled at him. The pity in it galled him. "Let us hope," she repeated.

She took her leave of him then, vanishing into the swirl of souls as if she were only a dream. He listened as the echoes of her footsteps faded. He thought for a moment that he heard her voice again, carried to him as if on a breeze.

_"Let us hope."_

…

He found Thor on the banks of a lake.

As he had walked, the ruined city had given way to first to fields and plains, then to a dark wood of dead, twisting trees. He had walked amongst their rotting branches, searching, ever searching each nook and cranny for all traces of Thor. He had found none, but Loki was not one to give up. His whole life had been a battle: for Odin's approval, for the respect of his teachers, for the love of his brother. Life on Asgard did not come naturally to him, and so he had had to fight for every scrap of praise. If he had given up, he would have mourned his way out of existence while still in childhood.

Loki was far stronger than he was given credit for.

The trees, eventually, had thinned and the mists that clung to them had parted enough for him to catch glimpses of a lake. It was huge, stretching for miles, and surrounded by the dead as everything else was. But here he felt his magic tingle, first with recognition and then with joy. His pace quickened automatically and soon he found himself running through the remaining trees, down to the waterside where sat his brother, staring out over the black waters.

He slowed as he approached, barely daring to believe it. Thor looked as he did on Asgard: armoured and strong. But he was muted, as all the dead were, in shades of grey.

Loki sat next to him on the pebbled shore and turned his gaze out over the water, wondering what it was Thor saw here.

Beside him, Thor sighed. "What is it you would have me say?" he asked.

It was good, so good to hear his voice again. Loki wanted to laugh with joy, but he held it back. He could not, though, stop the grin that spread wide over his features.

"I would have you say anything," he said, "if only to hear you speak once more."

Thor looked at him curiously. "And why would a Jotun wish to hear my voice?"

Loki froze. His wild grin fell from his lips, and he scrambled to the edge of the water. Smooth and dark as blood in the not-light of the dying sun, it reflected back to him the true appearance he hid from all – the appearance he had only known of for scant few days.

He was Jotun here. Thor did not look upon him and see his brother; he saw a monster he had been taught from birth to hate.

"I mean no offense," Thor said from behind him. "We are all equals here, are we not? Death unites us all. I simply wonder what pleasures you could possibly seek in my company."

Loki couldn't stop himself from laughing then. "It seemed you learned our father's lesson after all, Odinson," he said, turning away from the foul image in the water. It was merely a set-back. He would return Thor to life as he had sworn, and _then_ would he live with the consequences. He thought he could live with anything except Thor being dead.

" _Our_ father?"

Thor stood abruptly. He reached out and grasped Loki by the shoulders, studying him intently, taking in everything. The Asgardian clothes his spirit had retained, his hair, his features.

_"Loki?"_

His name on his brother's lips was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard.

"Yes, brother. It is I."

Thor looked incredulous, but then misery – pure and heart-wrenching – rose on his face. His grip on Loki tightened unbearably, and he dragged Loki closer to him.

"No," he moaned. "No, no, no."

Loki swallowed. It felt so good to be embraced like this. He rested his forehead on Thor's armoured shoulder and lifted his hands to rest them on his waist."I am sorry," he said. "I know it is repulsive. If I could have come to you in any other form I would have, but Thor you must –"

"How did this happen, Loki?" Thor demanded of him.

"Father –" Loki began to explain, but was interrupted once more.

"Father killed you? But _why_? What could – no, there is nothing you could have done to deserve so cruel a fate."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," Loki said drily, thinking briefly of his plan for Thor's coronation. He cleared his throat. "It would appear we have been talking of different things, brother mine. I am not dead. Not truly."

Thor pushed him away slightly to study his face once more. "I do not understand," he said.

"I came here to find you," Loki told him. He reached up and tangled his fingers in Thor's hair, drew his brother down to press their brows together. Every sense he had here was filled with Thor and nothing else. It would have been so easy to linger, he realised, to give up on life and remain by this lake for eternity. Surely, Niflheim would not be so bad if Thor was there by his side.

"I went to Midgard in search of you, and found you dead. I couldn't – I couldn't." He gripped onto Thor harder as the memory of his shattered form rose in his mind once more. "Oh Thor, I could not leave you like that. I couldn't live without knowing you lived also. I'm sorry, so sorry."

Thor said nothing, waiting for Loki to finish.

"There is magic, forbidden magic, that would bring you back. I had to try."

"You told me once that all magic had a price," Thor said quietly.

"I am willing to pay it," Loki said. "Do not argue with me on this, brother. I love you. There is no price that I would not pay."

Thor studied him closely once more. Then a smile broke out upon his lips. It was as though the sun had risen, in this shadowed realm, for in seeing it Loki felt sudden warmth rush through his very being. When Thor laughed, loud and booming, Loki basked in the sight his brother's joy.

"Come then, brother," Thor said. "Work your magics."

"As you wish."

…

Yggdrasil's branches pulsed with light around them. Without his body shielding him, Loki could feel its power more strongly. It flowed through him, whispered to him, whispered for him – carrying his tale through its branches to other realms where it would be written and taken as myth.

He held Thor's hand as he led them through the winding paths of the World Tree, leaving the grey wastes of Niflheim behind them. He did not look back. If he did, both he and Thor would be lost, for that was the way of such magic. Any sign of regret or indecision and all hope would be lost forever.

He could feel Thor's spirit growing steadily warmer where it brushed against his own. Not only that, but he could feel Thor's wonder at the sight of Yggdrasil spread out beneath them; his awe at Loki's sure steps; his pride.

Loki walked steadily onwards, leading his brother and leaving only a trail of joyous tears behind him.

…

He woke slowly to the feel of a heart beating beneath his fingers. It took a moment for him to register whose it was, and why it was important. Then his brain began to work once more and he sat bolt upright, eager to check on his brother. He regretted it in an instant. His body was stiff and aching, slow to respond, and he groaned in pain.

But the pain was worth it. Thor's eyelashes fluttered lightly against his cheeks before his eyes cracked open revealing familiar slivers of brightest blue. He blinked once, twice, and parted his lips to speak.

_"Loki."_

Loki had thought that his name on Thor's lips was beautiful before, but it was nothing compared to this. All he could feel was joy and relief and it bubbled up within his chest, releasing as mad laughter. Thor's voice was raspy from disuse, but it was glorious.

He leaned down over his brother and, wild with joy, pressed a kiss to his dry lips. "I told you," he said, "never to doubt that I love you."

"Never," Thor agreed.

Loki kissed him again. Thor didn't protest, so he did it again and again. He could feel Thor along the edges of his own being. He could feel his surprise and his happiness and his lust. Loki grinned and slid his hand down Thor's chest only to feel pain flare within him. He jerked back, wincing as he did so, and looked down.

The runes he had carved into Thor's chest were bleeding now. Thor's blood, smeared by Loki's fingers, was no longer entirely red. It was tainted with lines of green and black, tiny threads of Loki's magic that would be forever embedded in his being.

Slowly, Thor pushed himself up to study them himself. When he looked up at Loki again, the expression on his face was unreadable but the turmoil in his spirit was not. Fear. Thor was frightened of him, of what he had done.

His joy at his success faded, only to be replaced by guilt and a bone-deep sense of weariness. He should have known. He _had_ known. He had known that Thor would turn him away for this, for who would not?

"I can feel you," Thor whispered. He raised a shaking hand to press it against his chest, further smearing his tainted blood. "I feel you as clearly as I do myself." He was frowning, and it was Loki's turn to feel fear.

"It is the price," Loki told him. "I am sorry, for what it is worth, that you have had to pay for this as well."

"Do not," Thor said, his words harsh. Loki flinched back. He felt a burst of anger that was not his own, followed swiftly by regret and sorrow. Thor reached out for him, and he let his brother wrap his fingers around his own. "Do not apologise, Loki," he said, far softer this time. "You have done more than anyone else could, or would. I am not angry, brother. I seek only to understand."

There was an age in Thor's eyes that hadn't been there before; a wisdom. His time in the realm of the dead had changed him, in a way. Loki took a deep breath and inched closer, slowly lowering himself back onto the bed by his brother's side. He positioned himself as he had before, with his head and his hand on his brother's broad chest and listened to his gentle breathing.

"You have heard the saying, that you take responsibility for the lives you save," he said after a while. "This works on the same principle. For this magic to work, your life must be more precious to me than my own."

"You could have died?" Thor asked. He could feel Thor's horror at the very idea that he may have been harmed. It warmed him inside and gave him the courage to go on.

"Technically, brother mine, I did. Temporary though it may have been." He sighed. "No matter. The cost of your life is that of my own. We are bound now, forever, and not even death shall sever the bond between our souls."

He felt nothing from his brother. He lifted his head and propped his chin on Thor's chest. "Are you angry with me?" he asked.

Thor's fingers brushed lightly against his lower back. "Angry?" he asked. "No, I – I am surprised, Loki, that you hold me so highly. I am afraid of what will become of us. We are brothers."

"Not truly," Loki replied. "You have seen what I truly am. A Jotun runt abandoned to die, then taken by Odin as a relic of war." He could not stop the bitterness that crept into his voice. He was angry still, for the lies Odin had spun throughout the centuries of Loki's life. "How could such a creature be worthy of being your brother?"

Thor's fingers pinched his hip hard enough to hurt. He dislodged Loki, then, rolling them so that Loki was on his back beneath him. Loki felt the ache in his own body as Thor moved. He was stiff and weakened and in no shape for a confrontation no matter how hard he seemed to be looking for one.

"You would call yourself unworthy?" Thor asked him. Anger filled his voice and flickered across Loki's senses. "You, who would risk death and ruin for my sake? _Loki_ …" He leaned down and pressed their lips together in a tender kiss that Loki could not help but gasp into. "It is I who does not deserve you, brother."

…

The short walk to Loki's private bathroom exhausted both of them, and they slumped together against the tub as it filled, panting to regain their breath. Loki leaned his head against Thor's shoulder. He could feel the ache in his brother's muscles as keenly as his own; he could feel Thor's heartbeat thundering beneath his ribs, next his own, keeping perfect time. Even their panting breaths were synchronised.

He felt Thor's nose press into his hair and a gentle kiss – more a ragged brush of parted lips – was touched to his parting.

Thor's body had stiffened and wasted in death for far longer than Loki's. He was unused to being the more physically powerful one, and it showed when he had to haul Thor to his feet once more. It would pass eventually, he knew, and he was glad of that. Loki wasn't weak by any means, but Thor was always meant to be stronger.

In body, at least.

He helped his brother into the hot water and bliss erupted over his body in a way that made him fall to his knees and groan. He'd never liked hot baths, preferring his own lukewarm at most, though he'd never understood why until recently. His brother, however…

_"Sometimes, I am envious…"_

He winced as he dipped a hand into the bath, but ignored the pain in favour of scooping water up and over the broad expanse of Thor's shoulder. His brother caught his hand clumsily, splashing. His reflexes had suffered somewhat.

"Enough, Loki," he said. "You need not hurt yourself on my account."

_"…But never doubt that I love you."_

He leaned against the tub and pressed his forehead against Thor's damp shoulder. There was a rare smile on his face that he knew Thor could feel. He knew with a certainty that wasn't entirely his own that he would not be punished for this hubris – not by Thor, at any rate. His brother loved him, was grateful, and he did not doubt Loki's affections any more than he did his own.

…

He didn't know how long he knelt by Thor's side, but when the water was cool enough he rose unsteadily to his feet and joined his brother in the bath. He leaned back into his brother's embrace and let large hands slough blood and residual magic from his skin.

He was so tired that he barely noticed it at first, the faint stirrings of arousal in his belly. He moaned softly as Thor's hand dipped below the tepid water and brushed over the runes carved into his lower abdomen before carefully – tentatively – curving around his hardening cock. Thor was nervous, he could feel it in the fluttering of their heartbeat. He turned as far as he could in his brother's arms and pressed their lips together as best he could.

The nervousness faded, and only Thor remained.

It was all he'd ever wanted.

…

He knew better than to keep Thor in Asgard much longer. One stolen night was all he allowed them before he guided his brother back to Midgard through Yggdrasil's twisting branches. Their fingers laced together as they walked between the worlds.

He took Thor to a town not far from where he had died, and where Mjolnir still lay. Farewell stuck on his tongue, so he distracted himself by brushing invisible specks of lint from Thor's thin, mortal clothing. "Nervous, brother?" he asked, unable to stop himself.

"Not at all," Thor replied, and Loki knew that this time it was truth. "I am leaving Asgard in the safest of hands." To demonstrate his point, he captured Loki's hands with his own, stilling their movements in order to place gentle kisses to each long finger. "And when I return, you shall be made prince in truth as well as in name."

For a brief moment, Loki had no idea what Thor could possibly mean. But as he looked into the blue of his brother's eyes, he could see and feel nothing but sincerity and love and the tiniest twinge of doubt, as if Thor thought Loki would pull away from him. _Then_ he understood.

" _Thor_ ," he breathed.

No one would understand; no one would even want to. They would whisper and point and hide their disgust behind false platitudes and smiles, but what Thor was offering… Loki didn't think he could ever turn him down. What did it matter that the entirety of the Nine Realms believed them to be brothers in blood?

He used Thor's grip on his hands to tug his brother closer and kissed him deeply. Why did anything matter when he would have Thor?

"You accept me, then?" Thor murmured, breathing his words against Loki's mouth between soft kisses.

Loki laughed softly. "You should know better by now, brother mine," he replied. "Never to doubt that I love you."

…

His return to Asgard went unmarked, much as his absence from it had been. He sat in the throne room for several hours after his arrival, fidgeting as he failed to get comfortable on Hlidskjalf. Gungnir, he quite liked, but he was not made for the throne of Asgard.

His place would be behind it, as his mother's was.

He went to visit her in his father's chambers and brought dinner for them both. For the first time in days, Loki felt hungry. Ravenous, actually. He'd always had a huge appetite, but eating had become unimportant upon his discovery of Thor's death.

But that was over now. _Done_. And Loki was half-starved for it.

He pressed a kiss to his mother's cheek before he sat, and presented her with her plate. It was relatively simple fare. A rich stew and fresh bread, with apples for desert. She thanked him, but her attentions soon returned to Odin as they always did when he slept.

"There has been no change?" Loki asked.

"None."

He hated the way that she looked then. So sad, the fine lines about her eyes so much deeper than they usually were, and the corners of her mouth turned down. But then he recalled his own appearance, not so long ago; smeared with Thor's blood, pale and shaking, eyes wide with horror and fear and unbearable loss. He passed her his last slice of apple, and she smiled at him faintly as she bit into golden flesh.

"One day," she told him, "you'll understand, Loki, just what it means to love someone so much."

"I hope so, mother," he whispered.

The truth withered on his tongue, and died.

…

He stayed at Odin's side even after his mother had retired to her chambers. She had been falling asleep where she'd sat, and he'd urged her to bed so that she could rest and so that he could…well, not do much. He'd taken her seat and folded his arms on the edge of Odin's bed, resting his chin on them so that he could study the All Father intently. He, like his mother, seemed so old all of a sudden.

Loki sighed.

He wanted to hate Odin. By all rights he should, but he couldn't bring himself to. Not anymore.

He traced his fingers over the energy barrier that separated Odin from the rest of the world. "They say you see everything when you sleep," he said. Certainly, when he had been a child, Odin had seemed omniscient. It had mostly been thanks to Hugin and Munin, he knew, but the few times he could remember the All Father falling into the Odinsleep he had always woken from it knowing exactly what everyone had been up to. If Loki had played tricks or embroiled Thor in childish mischief, Odin would know of it; if Thor had improved in his sparring or skipped out on his classes, Odin would know that too.

But how much was everything? Would he know what Loki had done? What he and Thor had become?

"We broke him, you and I," Loki whispered. "I brought dishonour and war upon the day that should have been his greatest triumph. You cast him out and shattered his body as well as his spirit. Between the two of us, Thor found ignoble death. But of the two of us, only I could fix him." He sighed. Even now he could feel Thor's spirit nestled against his own. His brother was being confused by something. _Again_.

"Do not hate him for that, All Father," he said. "Do not condemn Thor for what I have done even if he _has_ accepted it."

Thor was too trusting, sometimes, but Loki couldn't bring himself to resent that fact. Not now.

He stretched out his hand before him and studied the runes on his wrist. They had scabbed over black and shimmering green, but they seemed to be healing well enough.

"Do not hate Thor, but know this, All Father: whatever punishments you seek to lay upon me for this, I will remain by his side always."

There was only silence in reply, but Loki was satisfied as he sat back in his chair. His hands fell to his lap and he absently tugged his sleeve down over his wrist once more. Though Odin still slept, he couldn't help but feel that he had been understood.

…

Thor returned triumphant two days later, with the Warriors Three and Lady Sif by his side. Loki had been in the throne room all morning. He'd taken a book and sat on the stairs rather than on Hlidskjalf itself – the throne of Asgard really was too uncomfortable for him. He felt Thor's arrival before any of his other senses recognised it. It gave him time to hide his book and snatch up Gungnir and make himself presentable before the doors swung open and Thor strode in, resplendent in his armour. His friends hurried in behind him, and Loki couldn't help but notice the dark expression on Lady Sif's face.

He resisted the urge to laugh at her.

Instead he made his way down from the dais. There was so much he could have said, but he settled instead for a simple "welcome home," as he held open his arms.

Thor laughed and reached for him, pulling him into his warm embrace. "Loki," he said. "You look well, brother." Gentle, calloused fingers brushed along Loki's cheekbone and tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. "Kingship suits you."

There was a stifled noise from behind him and Loki wondered if Sif had just bitten through her tongue.

"Not at all," he said. "I am not meant to be King of Asgard. That glory is ever yours, my brother."

Thor looked down at him seriously, and the temptation to lean up and kiss him was almost overwhelming. Loki licked his lips at the thought, and smiled when Thor's gaze followed the movement.

"What if I am not ready?" Thor asked quietly.

Loki felt a strange sense of unreality. His plan had been to get the All Father to see that Thor wasn't ready, and for all intents and purposes it had worked. He hadn't expected Thor to see it, though. It was oddly relieving. He wasn't entirely sure he was ready to take over from Frigga yet, either.

"Then you aren't ready," he said. "The Odinsleep is a temporary thing. We weren't prepared this time, but mother believes the All Father will be awake again in a few days." He stepped back from Thor's hold and guided him up the steps to Hlidskjalf. "And I will be with you," he promised. "Always."

He wasn't only talking about kingship, either, and if the warmth he felt blossom in his chest was anything to go by then Thor knew it.

He passed Gungnir over to his brother, and as Thor sat upon the throne, Loki dropped to one knee before him and pressed his hand to his heart, bowing his head as he did so. He glanced up through his lashes and revelled in the sight of Thor's smile.

"Rise, brother," Thor said, and Loki obeyed. He stepped to the side and leaned against the throne's mighty arm, and for the first time in days, he truly felt as if all would be well.


	3. Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally supposed to be a short epilogue rather than a full chapter, but then it just wouldn't stop. Still, though, this is the end. I hope you've all enjoyed it.

Thor kept his word. On the first night after he had returned to Asgard, he retired to Loki's chambers instead of his own and once the door had closed behind him, he slipped a betrothal ring onto Loki's finger. It sat with unfamiliar weight, and Loki couldn't stop himself from running his thumb over the metal even as his heart swelled with joy in his chest.

He kissed Thor, then; finally giving in to the temptation that had plagued him since Thor had taken him in his arms in the throne room. Thor groaned against his mouth and pressed deeper, winding his arms around Loki's waist and pulling him flush against his body. Lust – not entirely his own – ignited in Loki's blood and he stepped backwards, guiding Thor to his bed. Fingers tugged urgently at ties and fastenings, clothes were shed and kisses pressed to every inch of revealed skin.

The backs of Loki's knees hit the edge of the bed and he collapsed back onto it, dragging Thor down with him. He parted his legs willingly for his beloved not-brother and wondered at how well they fit together as Thor settled between his thighs.

It felt like he was trapped in an inferno. The heat of Thor's body surrounded him and filled him. Emotion and sensation blurred within him until he could no longer separate the two of them. He gasped Thor's name in a litany of desire until the feel of their combined pleasure robbed him of speech and left him screaming in incoherent ecstasy.

Afterwards, he laid panting and shaking in Thor's arms, feeling the thundering of Thor's heart and an overwhelming sense of peace. Thor stroked and kissed his sweaty hair as Loki pressed his pace into the crook of his shoulder. Contentment flowed between them, satisfaction, and love. So much love that it brought tears to Loki's eyes; he didn't let them fall, choosing instead to breathe a soft sigh over Thor's collarbone and to swear to take his own words to heart.

_"Never doubt that I love you."_

…

He watched the next morning as Thor took up the mantle of kingship and listened to the pleas of his subjects. There weren't many, and their problems were such that Thor did not need Loki's advice to deal with them. So Loki sat in silence in the chair usually reserved for his mother, fiddling with his betrothal ring.

The Warriors Three and Lady Sif had graced the hall with their presence that morning as well, and he couldn't quite stop himself from smirking as he caught sight of their repeated glances in his direction. They were wondering why he was by Thor's side, why he had abdicated so easily. It would be interesting, he supposed, to see what conclusions they would come to. He doubted that any of them would hit on the truth – they so rarely did, particularly when he was involved. They did so love to believe the worst of him even when he acted honestly and for good.

Thor reached out and wrapped his fingers around Loki's hands, stilling their movement. He could feel Thor's amusement and his faint irritation, and it made him laugh softly.

"My apologies, brother," he murmured. "I did not realise it bothered you so."

"If you're that bored, Loki, you may read," Thor replied. Even though he spoke quietly, his voice seemed to carry in the hall. "There are no more supplicants for us to hear, after all."

Loki smiled at him, and glanced towards Lady Sif. She was watching them, more specifically, she was watching their hands where they rested entwined in Loki's lap. "Unless," he said, "your friends have any complaints to make. They were certainly eager to escape my tyranny."

"What tyranny?"

Thor was the only one who knew exactly what Loki had spent his time as King of Asgard doing – save for Queen Hela, and she was worlds away – and he knew that his friends had no real right to complain of Loki's rule.

"Oh, you know," Loki replied. "Using my power for heinous plots that would bring these golden halls crashing down around us had you not arrived so timely to rescue the throne from my clutches."

Such thoughts about him had caused centuries upon centuries of pain, until he realised that the only one who mattered had never looked upon him in such a way. Thor may have been dismissive of Loki's 'tricks' in their youth, but never had he found them sinister; now that he knew of Loki's true capabilities, he was awed instead of frightened, and it had created a balm for the wounds in Loki's heart.

He could jest about those accusations now. His bond with his not-brother was changing him as much as it was changing Thor, but Loki found it hard to believe those changes for the worse.

"Is that a confession I hear?" Thor asked, humour glinting in his eyes.

"Is a confession what my King wishes to hear?" Loki replied. He glanced once more at Sif before he leaned in and pressed his lips to Thor's ear and hissed. "I have done such wicked things, Your Majesty. I cast forbidden magic on a Prince of Asgard and used my position to keep it a secret." He bit down lightly on the lobe of Thor's ear and relished in the gasp it elicited.

It would be so easy to get carried away, he thought, but he allowed Thor to nudge him away with an admonishing "Loki!" though he could feel Thor was as reluctant to separate as himself. "You're terrible," Thor told him.

Loki gave his most wicked grin. "So I have heard, brother mine."

…

"What are you up to?"

It had taken longer than he'd thought for Sif to confront him. He turned to her, and raised an eyebrow in question. Her hand tightened around the hilt of her sword. She feared him, and oh how he hated her for it.

"What makes you think I'm up to anything?" he asked.

"I know you, Loki," she replied. "You would never act this way if there was nothing for you to gain from it. Giving the throne up to Thor, placing yourself by his side… He may be blinded by his affection for you, but I am not."

"Or perhaps you know less of me than you believe," Loki said. "I have never desired the throne of Asgard. It is Thor's by right, and to Thor it will go. He is doing a rather splendid job so far, is he not?"

Her eyes narrowed and her grip shifted.

"I hope you aren't going to draw that, Lady. It would grieve my brother greatly to have you executed for treason."

She looked down at her sword, and then back up at him. Her hatred was etched over every line of her lovely face. "I would give my life so that Thor would be safe," she said, her voice barely more than a snarl.

"And in that, Lady Sif, we are equals," he told her. He raised his hand and she drew back defensively, the blade of her sword ringing as she drew it from its sheath. He simply smiled at her and snapped his fingers, letting his magic carry him away through the worlds.

…

They dined with their mother that night, in the chambers where their father lay sleeping. Their mother was more animated now that Thor had returned, though her gaze still strayed to Odin with every lull in the conversation. Thor was telling her of his time on Midgard, and Loki kept silent save to voice an occasional question.

"It sounds so very different from how it was when our people were last there," Frigga mused.

"They have progressed much in our years of absence," Thor admitted. "I would like to return once Father has awoken. There is much I think we can learn from them, and Loki would find their world as fascinating as I do."

Loki smiled at that. "I would like to see it," he said.

His last visits to Midgard had been too frantic and tortured for him to gain much of an impression of the place, and it would remove him from Odin's immediate vicinity if his foster-father was angry with him for his actions.

Frigga smiled at them both. "Still so adventurous," she murmured. She bit delicately into a slice of apple. "You would take your friends, as always?"

Thor cleared his throat awkwardly, no doubt feeling the surge of horror that filled Loki's breast. "Not this time," he said. "The Warriors Three did not make the best of impressions when they came looking for me."

Frigga looked surprised. "They went to Midgard?" She looked to Loki for confirmation, and he bowed his head in admission.

"They came to demand Thor be brought back to Asgard," he said. "I did not wish to undo Father's last act as King, and so I refused. I hope I do not offend, Mother. I did not want to interfere in the lesson that Father set for Thor."

"I, for one, am glad Loki did not," Thor said. He placed his hand over Loki's squeezing gently. "I learned much, particularly that there is always more to learn."

Frigga smiled faintly. "I am glad to hear it," she said. But her gaze – like Sif's – had fallen upon their hands and the ease with which they had entwined, and though Thor drew away, it did not remove the suspicion from her eyes.

Particularly, Loki thought, since she had now spotted the ring that adorned his hand.

…

"It is harder than I had thought to deny myself your touch," Thor admitted. They lay together in Loki's bed once more, tangled in the sheets and each other, sweat and semen cooling on their bodies. Loki hummed in agreement and pressed a kiss to Thor's shoulder.

"We knew we wouldn't be able to keep it a secret," he said.

"I know," Thor replied. "But still, brother, we have not lasted a day."

The word 'brother' had taken on a different meaning now: that of 'beloved' or 'darling' rather than a declaration of their relation.

"Does it bother you that much?" he asked. "That Mother suspects the truth?"

"I don't know," Thor replied. "I was surprised, I think, about how upset she seemed. She knows of your adoption, does she not?"

"So I assume," Loki said. "Though I do not know what Father told her when he presented her with me. If it was the same story he told me before he fell into the Odinsleep or not. Whatever it was, she did raise us as brothers; to think of each other as brothers. She does not know of my, ah, transgressions either." He traced the nauthiz rune that decorated his brother's chest – it had healed and left a brilliant, shimmering green scar – with the tip of his finger. "She is surprised, brother."

"I hope it is only that," Thor said.

"And if it is not, our impending jaunt to Midgard will give our parents time and distance to accustom themselves to the idea," Loki told him. "They will never stop loving you. Such a thing is impossible."

He suspected they would – as always – be easier on Thor than they would on him. Loki would be blamed for this, never mind that without him they wouldn't have Thor at all. He was the one who would be punished and reviled.

Thor's arm tightened around his waist. "Stop thinking like that," he said. "You are too maudlin, brother."

Considering it had been Thor who was miserable not moments ago, Loki snorted with laughter at his words. He shifted to press a kiss to Thor's lips. "I can live with whatever sentence they pass," he whispered, "as long as you stay with me."

Thor grinned up at him. "Always."

…

Odin awoke two days later. He came upon them in the throne room, being observed in their duties as they always were by Lady Sif and the Warriors Three. Their mother was at his side as she always was, and her lips were pressed thin together, nearly white. Loki stiffened automatically, only to have Thor's hand close gently upon his own.

His brother released him as he stood. "Father!" he called out, joy in his voice. He stepped down from the dais looking as fearless as he always did, but Loki knew his lover's actions for a lie. He could feel Thor's heart pounding next to his own; feel his worry twisting in his stomach.

He slipped from his own seat, to approach at Thor's side. Spells ran through his mind. Seidr to defend and escape before a blow could be struck.

Odin looked at them gravely, and not for the first time that week, Loki wondered at how old the All Father suddenly appeared.

"Father?" Thor asked. "What is it?"

Odin was looking at him closely, studying him. Then, without speaking, he turned his gaze to Loki. Loki winced – there was no love there. Thor shifted, angling his body between them and drawing the All Father's attention back to himself.

"Loki has done nothing that either of us regret, Father," he said quietly.

Loki raised his eyebrows at his lover's back. There were many things he regretted. He regretted letting the Jotun into Asgard, regretted conspiring against Thor; he regretted every action that had led to Thor's premature death. Perhaps Thor meant that he did not regret the results of those actions – he did not – and the ties that now bound them together.

"He has broken the laws of Asgard," Odin replied, not so quietly. On the other side of the hall, Thor's friends exchanged glances. They began to approach, and Loki sighed softly at the familiar sight of Sif's hand upon the hilt of her sword. "He has committed treason, and broken the laws of magic for his own gain."

Thor opened his mouth to argue, but Loki closed his hand on Thor's forearm. "Don't," he said. "He's right. But that's not all, is it All Father?"

Odin gave him another of those long, assessing looks. Then he smiled, finally, though it was sad. "Loki may have acted for himself, but his actions have served to better all of Asgard," he said. "For that, I can only be grateful."

Behind him, Frigga relaxed. She raised trembling hands to her breast and closed her eyes, as if wishing to hold the moment forever. Loki was tempted to do the same. He felt the muscles in Thor's arm loosen, felt his brother's confusion and then his joy.

From Thor's other side, Sif spoke up. "My King? Prince Loki has –"

"My full support," Odin replied. "For all of his actions, most of which, I suspect you know nothing about." His tone brooked no argument, and Sif fell silent.

…

Thor had never been one to wear long sleeves before his death, preferring to keep his arms bare if he was not in battle or participating in a ceremony, and revealing his strength to all who would look. But now, to hide the scars Loki's magic had left on him, he chose long-sleeved tunics that he clearly felt awkward in. As such, it was not overly surprising that, during dinner, he chose to shove the sleeves up over his elbows to get them out of his way without thinking of what he might reveal.

Loki saw the action and rolled his eyes, but did not comment. He would have to get used to his brother's inability to keep secrets, it would seem – though Odin at least was aware of what he had done already.

The green of his magic shone pleasantly on Thor's golden skin. The lines of the runes he had cut were perfectly straight and of even size. The scars were, at least, attractive.

And noticeable.

Odin saw them first, and after a brief moment turned his gaze away as if he had not noticed. Then their mother, who almost dropped her spoon before collecting herself once more. Volstagg choked on a leg of pheasant. The commotion he made drew Thor's attention – at last – to what he had done, and he cleared his throat awkwardly as he moved to hide them again, glancing shame-faced at Loki as he did so.

"Hopeless, brother," Loki murmured, a small smile twitching at the corner of his lips.

"Not all of us can be as subtle as you," Thor grumbled in reply.

"Norns forbid," Loki said. Thor felt so utterly embarrassed that Loki was hard pressed not to laugh at him, or kiss him – both were tempting, the kissing more so. He nudged Thor gently with his elbow instead and returned to his dinner, though the gentle contact – through clothing as it had been – had left his arm feeling warm and tingling.

There would be time for kisses later, and for more than just kisses. He smirked as he bit into a sliver of pheasant, and bowed his head to hide his expression as – under the table – Thor's thigh pressed wantonly against his own and sent heat spiralling through his whole body. They were sitting closer together than brothers should, and the gravity of what had happened between them – what was happening – sat heavily on the whole table.

Loki could see the realisation starting to dawn upon Thor's friends, and upon those guards and courtiers close enough to see the way they interacted and the glitter of green upon Thor's skin. There would be confrontation, of course. There had to be. The only question was whether or not it would happen before or after they managed to escape on a visit to Midgard.

He hooked his foot around Thor's ankle and continued to eat as if nothing was happening. It wouldn't do to be too provocative, after all. So when Thor gave in to frustration and pushed his sleeves up once more, he didn't even spare his wrists a glance – he was the only one who didn't.

…

"Sif doesn't like you," Thor informed him as he entered Loki's chambers that night. Loki glanced up from his book, eyebrows raised. He was dressed already for bed, in a loose spun tunic that had slipped down over his shoulder, and he had been waiting for Thor for a while.

He'd known Thor would come of course. Why wouldn't he?

"I've been telling you that for years," Loki replied. He marked his page and put the book aside. "What made you finally take notice?"

Thor locked the door and started to remove his armour. Loki slipped to the edge of the bed and reached for one of the buckles himself. He could have removed the whole lot by magic, but there was something infinitely more satisfying about stripping his lover the hard way.

"She drew me aside after the feast. She believes that Odin is wrong to trust you, and that you are plotting against me."

"Hardly," Loki muttered, focussing on a particularly stubborn strap. "You would know, would you not, if I was?"

Thor's hand briefly rested over his own. "I never said I believed her," he said.

Eventually the breastplate came free, and Thor left it propped up against the corner of Loki's desk. It was followed in short order by the tunic that had annoyed him so much during dinner. Loki watched the pull and flex of the muscles in Thor's back as he removed it, and licked his lips.

When Thor was in his breeches only, he joined Loki on the bed they now shared. "I used to think you were exaggerating when you told me how she distained you," he said softly. "I was wrong. I thought, surely, that my friends could see in you the things that I did and that you were only insecure."

Loki shook his head. "Do not think on it," he said, but when Thor reached out to card his fingers through Loki's hair, he leaned into the touch, humming softly with pleasure.

"She claims you have enchanted me somehow," Thor said.

Loki laughed softly. "Have I not?" he asked. "She is right, in a way."

How could he deny it, when his magic was so clearly marked on Thor's skin? When their souls were bound so tightly to one another that they could not ever be separated? When the line where Thor ended and he began was so blurred that he could no longer entirely separate their feelings from one another – could not tell unless Thor was feeling something completely at odds to Loki's situation.

"Perhaps she has always been right," Thor mused. Loki raised his eyebrow, even as he let Thor push him down onto the blankets. The hand that wasn't in his hair brushed over his thigh, and he shifted slightly so that Thor could rest between his legs. "It seems I have always been enchanted by you."

Loki couldn't help it. He laughed, helplessly. "You have no need to say such things to seduce me, brother," he said between giggles. "I am yours already." He leaned up for a kiss, which Thor bestowed upon him gladly. "And that was the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard you say."

Thor chuckled, slipping his hand further up Loki's thigh. "I doubt that," he said.

He began to kiss down Loki's neck, open-mouthed and wet and utterly perfect. Loki gripped his shoulders, scratched at them gently and arched his hips up against Thor's as the hand on his thigh slipped underneath him to tease at his entrance.

He flicked a hand, and Thor's fingers became slick against his skin. He felt Thor's surprise; his appreciation, and the grin that he pressed into the crook of Loki's neck before he bit down and pressed in at the same time. Loki's body arched. The noise that escaped him was half gasp, half desperate moan, and a surge of lust flooded through him, knocking yet more air from his lungs and making it hard to breathe.

He clawed desperately at Thor's back. He tugged fruitlessly at his breeches until Thor got the hint and finally – finally – removed them, proud cock springing free of the constricting leather. Loki reached for it, wrapped his long fingers around the hard shaft and stroked as he guided Thor back to him, back between his trembling thighs. His not-brother was beautiful, long and thick, and he filled Loki perfectly – stretching him open and drawing sharp cries with every thrust.

Strange, how he could barely draw breath, but could still manage to scream his pleasure into the night as he spilled between their bodies.

…

They left for Midgard not two days later, encouraged by Odin and Frigga and the growing tension within the court. Questions were starting to be asked, and rumours were beginning to circulate, and the whole situation was made worse by Thor's inability to not fiddle with his sleeves and the ring that Loki refuses to remove.

The rumours were, for the most part, hugely inaccurate.

They say that Loki has turned Thor into his thrall, that Thor had fallen under a spell and was a slave to Loki's will. They say that Loki could never have earned the throne in his own right – true: a Jotun cannot inherit Asgard's throne, though his heritage was still a secret – and so he was trying to gain control by using Thor as a puppet. They have forgotten how Loki willingly abdicated; those few that remembered it twisted the tale to suit their purposes. They have seen the glimmer of green magic on Thor's wrists and, unable to read the runes from a distance and unknowing of the exact seidr used, assumed the very worst.

That Thor's temperament changed after his death and the entangling of his emotions with Loki's own doesn't help. Neither did the sounds of their love-making at night, though neither of them cared enough to try and hide anymore.

They stood in the Bifrost observatory. Odin was there, commanding Heimdallr to send them to Midgard. The gatekeeper was silent as he obeyed, and grave, and he was no wiser than any of the people at court. He had been so distracted by Jotunheim that Loki hadn't even needed to use his magic to hide his actions when he had been returning Thor to life, and not even Heimdallr could see the truth of the magic that bound them together. Nor could he see the reverent kisses Thor placed on his skin every night, or the way that Loki craved Thor's every touch and gentle caress – Loki's rooms had long been warded against the gatekeeper's all-seeing eyes. He wasn't planning on changing that any time soon.

Loki knew Heimdallr hated him for his ability to cloak himself, but there was little to gain from ever mentioning it to anyone. After all, the rest of Asgard had to suffer under Heimdallr's gaze, so why shouldn't he?

He held his tongue and tried to listen to the All Father's words. They were not to return until he sent for them – he would pass a message through one of his ravens and they would know to call for the Bifrost. Odin would soothe the chaos they – Loki – had caused, and Odin would make way for them to return as lovers rather than the brothers people thought they were. It was all well and good – and irrelevant: Loki would never be popular or trusted – but he kept getting distracted by the tension that was flowing from Thor.

He remembered, too late, feeling something similar just before Thor arrived home. It had been enough to make him lower his book and focus his magic inwards, onto the bond, at the time, but he had forgotten it when it had vanished under the joy of Thor's return.

But he remembered it now, and understood. The Bifrost had killed his brother once; it made sense that he would fear it.

When they were allowed to return to Asgard, they would walk through Yggdrasil instead. He would not have Thor suffer unnecessarily.

He took Thor's hand with his own, when Heimdallr finally opened the bridge, and squeezed Thor's fingers gently before blinding rainbow light carried them to the other end of the universe.

…

They landed in a desert.

The night air was crisp and cool and the stars that lit the indigo sky were further away than on Asgard, reduced to tiny pinpricks of cold light. Loki took a deep, slow breath, inhaling the scents of dust and residual magic. Thor was still gripping his hand, far tighter than was strictly comfortable, but he was beginning to relax again. There was a tightness in Loki's lungs – not dispelled by his deep breathing – that suggested that Thor had been holding his breath for the entire journey.

He tugged Thor closer, pulling him into a kiss that left them both shivering and panting, and the tightness in his chest slowly faded.

"So," he said. "Where to now, brother?"

They had landed, it seemed, close by place where Thor had died, and to the town where Loki had returned him to when he breathed once more. It was easy enough for his magic to return them both there, and once they had arrived, Thor led him in search of lodgings.

They were found first. A sleek black vehicle slowed to a stop next to them, and a man in plain Midgardian clothing stepped out of it. He gave Thor a long look. "You came back sooner than expected," he said.

Loki's eyebrows rose slightly, and he glanced curiously at his lover. "My Father was interested by what I had to say of your people," Thor said. "He sent me here to learn more, so that one day our realms may be allied."

And Thor had made sure that he would. In his innocent, bumbling naïveté, he had made sure of it. Loki felt so proud.

The look the man gave them reminded Loki eerily of Heimdallr, only without the deep-seated loathing that lingered in the gatekeeper's eyes. It felt as though he was looking right through them both to see some sort of truth written on their bones. It was slightly unnerving, but it stirred the first inklings of respect in Loki's heart. This mortal would be interesting. It gave him hope for the rest of them.

"Who's your friend?"

"My betrothed," Thor corrected, and Loki felt his heart skip. Judging from the smile that tilted the corners of Thor's mouth, he'd felt it too. "Loki. Loki this is Agent Coulson. He is a…defender of this realm."

The man may not have looked like much, but Loki could easily believe that.

"It is an honour to meet you, Agent," he said, and he stretched out a hand. After a brief moment, the mortal took it.

…

They were taken to a town that wasn't quite a town, just a short way outside of the one they had just been in. It is a strange place – it seems temporary and without purpose. There are no shops or taverns or amusements of any kind, simply dark, squat buildings made out of strange material.

They were introduced to people there, so many faces and strange names. Mortal patronymics were so different from their own. Briefly, Loki wondered if he had any right to 'Odinson' anymore, but pushed the thought from his mind.

They followed Agent Coulson into a room filled with primitive mortal technology which beeped and traced patterns on glass screens. There was a woman there, small and with long brown hair. Loki glanced at her oddly, finding her familiar, but ignored her in favour of the machine that looked like it was showing the energy surge of the Bifrost as it reached Midgard. The mortals had learned to track it, it seemed. It was impressive, though the calculations he managed to glimpse weren't entirely accurate.

The mortals wouldn't be building their own any time soon, at least.

"This is Jane Foster," Coulson said, indicating the woman. "She's an astrophysicist. She's been helping us study your method of transportation."

Loki glanced at the screen again. "Quite well," he murmured.

Was magic the realm of women here as well? He sighed inwardly.

The woman finally turned away from the data she had been perusing. She stared at them, open-mouthed, and Loki recognised her a split-second before she pointed at him and shrieked "You!"

…

Mortals no longer believed in magic.

Thor had tried giving a vague explanation that – while not entirely accurate – should have stopped the questions that flowed forth. It didn't. The mortals were rather curious about how Thor had managed to return from the dead, and they all knew that he had. Apparently, Thor had been walking around Midgard for days while under the surveillance of completely baffled mortals, some of whom had decided that Thor's resurrection would lead to him eating their brains.

Loki found it funny that they could believe that, but not in the magic that he wielded with ease.

He rested his head against Thor's shoulder and closed his eyes, glad that there would be no retribution here for the affection between them. The woman, it had transpired, had been the one to find Thor's body in the middle of the desert. She had been coming to study him – her machines having recorded him falling through the Bifrost – as evidence of her wormhole theory when she had interrupted Loki healing Thor's body, and he had knocked her out.

What she had thought he'd been doing, given that his magic was apparently 'impossible', Loki didn't want to know. He could imagine, and the thought made him shudder.

Eventually, Agent Coulson grew tired of the circus that had sprouted into existence around them, and began ordering people back to their posts. The woman refused to leave, as did her side-kick – the one who had suggested the brain-eating – and a man that carried himself like a warrior.

"Whatever you did, can it be repeated?" Coulson asked.

Loki had – after Foster had dismissed him for a liar – left Thor to answer the questions directed at them. This, however, was one that Thor could not reply to, and he cracked his eyes open to look the mortal in the eye.

"I sincerely doubt it," he said.

"Why?"

Loki wondered how much of the truth to tell, and decided on all of it. Thor would be upset, but his brother's moods led to lovemaking now rather than day-long silences and Loki thought he'd quite enjoy the consequences.

"Every sorcerer who attempted it before me died," Loki said. Sure enough, he felt Thor stiffen – felt his distress well up to choke him. It was so strong that Loki had to clear his throat before he could continue, but even then he had to raise his voice slightly so that he could make himself heard over the sudden patter of raindrops on the roof. "It is dangerous, and can only be attempted once by an individual. If they fail, they are lost forever. If they succeed, there is still a price." A price he would not be telling them. "The books those seidr are in are forbidden for a reason: the spells within them take far more lives than they save." He closed his eyes again. He could feel Thor trembling under his cheek. "Self-preservation instincts are quite difficult to set aside, you see."

And let them take from that what they would. He slipped his arm around Thor's waist and dug the tops of his fingers hard into his hip to remind him that they were both real, both alright, and slowly the tremors stopped. The rain continued.

When he opens his eyes again, the humans are looking at him with expressions that range from stony (Coulson) to pitying (Foster and her cohort). There is no disgust anymore, which he finds curious, but then they do not know just how unnatural the magic he has done is. Not like those on Asgard would.

He smiled, and judging from their sudden wariness, they found his contentment unnerving. Loki pretended not to notice.

He rather thought he could come to like Midgard.


End file.
